


Like we're in a crime scene

by takarter



Category: Wynonna Earp (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/F, Guilt, Implied/Referenced Incest, Light Angst, Running Away, Underage Drinking, but everything around them might as well be going to shit, they're okay because they're together
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-12
Updated: 2019-01-12
Packaged: 2019-10-08 20:35:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,374
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17393279
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/takarter/pseuds/takarter
Summary: Wynonna scoffs, and something in the room changes as she turns to,finally, make eye contact. Her gaze bores into Waverly’s, leaving the latter no choice but to catch every malicious, every self-destructive intent of her following words. “They all know, don’t they? That you followed me? That you want to be here? Whatever sick shit went through my mind when I picked you up and saw thisdressyou’re wearing? Seriously, could it beanyshorter?”orFinally, Wynonna and Waverly run away together.





	Like we're in a crime scene

**Author's Note:**

> I am aware that this is a controversial ship, so here are some disclaimers.  
> I do _not_ condone incest, toxic relationships, alcohol abuse or any other problematic things depicted in this story. They're not okay and shouldn't be romanticized. Though at the same time I feel that, without doing the former, I can explore these very interesting dynamics from an, hopefully, artistic standpoint.  
> Enjoy!

Waverly exhales air, Wynonna smoke. It’s an ironically accurate depiction of themselves; not just in this moment, but rather every single one they’ve spent together. Shivering fingers gripping a cigarette, pacing out on the small balcony that only ever allows a few steps to be taken in any given direction. Through the window Waverly watches Wynonna - illuminated only by a subtle trace of moonlight - as she exhales one more time, and then with a certain nervousness, a giddiness, as Wynonna takes unfamiliarly hesitant steps back inside. She pays no mind to the traces of dirt she leaves on the carpeted floor of their shitty motel room, each footstep dull and muted, becoming one with the deafening guilt that lies above them. 

She sighs when Wynonna takes place on the foot of their slightly dirty and highly uncomfortable bed, without granting her so much as a reassuring look. She watches from where she’s sitting on the opposite side, propped up and leaning against the wall as though that might further steady her certainty of this being _okay_ , as Wynonna fiddles with her zippo, her own fingers, her hair. The tv’s playing as no more than a background noise, but Wynonna continues to laugh bitterly at what Waverly thinks might be a bad advertisement. She wouldn’t know, her eyes transfixed on Wynonna and waiting for her to finally say something, _anything_.

Waverly expects the words, when they finally manage to escape whiskey drowned lips, to be self-destructive and easily arguable. She doesn’t expect them to be _this_ ridiculous, no matter the amount of empty bottles that are _already_ adorning their nightstand. 

“So, I kidnapped you,” Wynonna states, absentmindedly licks her lips and chuckles. Waverly doesn’t say anything, doesn’t know _what_. The words couldn’t be less true, but Waverly knows stubborn when she sees it, knows to keep her mouth shut every now and then. “I finally did it, huh? And here everyone thought I couldn’t possibly fuck up more. Nice to prove them wrong, don’t you think?” 

Waverly shakes her head and knows it’s not enough. She argues for the sake of arguing. “Gus probably knows where I am.” 

“Doesn’t make it less of a kidnapping,” Wynonna shrugs, opens another bottle of beer even despite the glare the action lures out of her little sister. “It’ll make it easier for them to come find you, though. Haven’t yet decided whether that’s good or bad.” 

It’s bad, and so very easy for Waverly to decide. There’s little to no conflict here, except Wynonna’s alcoholism and its constant reminders of why this _should_ be a mistake. Waverly curls up on the bed while Wynonna stays put. It doesn’t matter that one motion would be enough for them to touch, the distance between them growing bigger with every passing second, palpable even from an outside view. 

“I _want_ to be here.” Waverly’s voice is small and uncertain now, but she tries to contain any voice cracks in order to keep up a facade of being _sure_ still. 

“Sure you do.” 

“You’re not being fair, Wy. I came with you because I wanted to and you know it. Gus knows it.” 

Wynonna scoffs, and something in the room changes as she turns to, _finally_ , make eye contact. Her gaze bores into Waverly’s, leaving the latter no choice but to catch every malicious, every self-destructive intent of her following words. “They all know, don’t they? That you followed me? That you want to be here? Whatever sick shit went through my mind when I picked you up and saw this _dress_ you’re wearing? Seriously, could it be _any_ shorter?” 

Another exhale, this time shaky. Waverly’s heart threatens to jump out of her chest, so fast is it starting to beat. It settles in her throat, prevents any mending words from possibly making this less than it is. An admission. One that they’ve both known already, admittedly, but an admission nonetheless. Something sick and dirty, something that shouldn’t ever be thought much less said aloud, something that slowly manifests itself as reddened cheeks and the subtlest upturn of lips. A throbbing between Waverly’s legs, so strong that she does not speak but rather sits up, draws them closer to her body and doesn’t at all care that all the movement does is reveal more of them, the dress gathering in a mess of fabric just above of what it’s supposed to keep hidden. 

It’s strangely exciting, to watch as Wynonna’s gaze wanders there for all of one second before she jumps off the bed and out into the cold night air, a mumbled _‘god I need another cigarette’_ the only excuse she dares to come up with. Only to be followed up with a muted _‘and a few more drinks’_. 

// 

Waverly follows her outside not long after, if only to keep the distance between them from growing too far. A slight shake of her head and a hidden yet undoubtedly sad smile tells Waverly that Wynonna is aware of her presence, even if she doesn’t turn to show as much. Wynonna leans over the railing of their balcony and watches the stars as she smokes, closes her eyes every now and then for reasons uncertain to Waverly. 

It’s a mystery the latter does not mind, as she rather prefers leaning against the cold stone wall behind her and waiting, no matter how long, for Wynonna to realize that it’s okay. That they can just talk, openly, without all of these games that no longer demand being played. They’re past subtle glances and carefully brushing fingers, crimes only in a context this suffocating. They’re well past acting coy and speaking around things as to not confine them to one single dangerous word. The truth is on a surface level now and Waverly wants to embrace their new found freedom. 

She reaches for the cigarette pack to get a reaction, and smiles when Wynonna firmly grasps her hand in order to stop her from taking it. 

“What do you think you’re doing?” Wynonna asks, voice hoarse and heavy and tainted with anger, but not even she - perhaps _especially_ not she - can resist Waverly’s sly and innocent smile. Fluttering eyelashes might as well be as dangerous as the cigarettes themselves. 

Waverly shrugs and leans back against the wall, the manner in which she does so strangely empowering. It’s rebellion in an already ongoing one, and it makes her feel smug, bold. Perhaps to a fault. “So what? You kidnap me but don’t let me smoke? I thought this was supposed to be fun.” 

She runs her tongue along chapped lips, smirks only until it is Wynonna that pushes her against the wall, smirks only until she loses control, then herself in green eyes and whiskey laced breath that mingles with her own. She tries to look away, finds it to be impossible when Wynonna keeps her trapped so easily and takes another drag of her cigarette dangerously close to Waverly’s face, and whispers words stripped of their meaning if only because they’re accompanied by soft lips tracing along her temple. “I’m not gonna let you kill yourself.” 

Waverly just barely so catches herself, and finally manages to turn her head with a frown. “Oh, but you’re going to kill _yourself_?”

And she _hates_ that Wynonna still has the guts to chuckle, in a moment this fragile and full of tension, a catalyst for everything that is to come. 

“This whole trip is a fucking suicide mission. I’d rather it be me than you, babygirl.” 

//

And then Wynonna leaves. They’ve barely settled back inside when she declares they need more drinks. When she declares _she_ needs more drinks. They’ve already established that perhaps Waverly isn’t deserving of the opportunity to make stupid decisions, not when Wynonna’s around. All of her actions are carried out with the intent of protecting Waverly, and the latter knows that it’s the same now. That Wynonna left, if only for a few minutes, to rid herself of guilt and provide Waverly with a chance. This is her chance to leave, and instead she drinks, and waits, and prays Wynonna won’t just take off and never come back. 

It’d be so easy for either of them. For Wynonna to keep driving, for Waverly to take those few steps, or make that call. 

She could tell Gus the truth, that a joking _‘Let’s run away from here, babygirl’_ from Wynonna’s part had turned into something much more serious, something that had made her hopeful. She could blame it all on Wynonna, even, without the need to feel guilty. She could tell Gus some bullshit only Wynonna herself could come up with, that she’s been corrupted by her older sister, that she’s been taken advantage of in a selfish attempt of fixing this all. But it’s not what she does. She dials the number and thinks of what to say, and then she hangs up again because the words she’s about to speak, every single one of them, cause her to feel sick. And perhaps it’s the alcohol, or the certain knowledge that something will go inevitably wrong, or the fear that Wynonna’s gone too far already. But it’s enough to stop her from trying again, and enough to get her to reach for the bottle once more. 

And a few times after that. Fright turns into the giddy want to _be_ with Wynonna, makes waiting impossible. A few more sips and she’s beyond tired, discards her dress and cuddles up under the covers in no more than her underwear. She feels slightly, pleasantly dizzy by the time she’s made it there, and her grin when Wynonna finally reappears after what feels like hours is impossibly goofy. 

“You’re back!” Waverly forgets, some sips of vodka later, that it’s a big deal. She should be surprised, but is instead just as nonplussed as Wynonna seems to be when she takes note of her still being here. So neither of them bolted and ran, not alone anyways, and suddenly the room feels more comfortable, the tension easier to bear.

“And you’re drunk,” Wynonna states nonchalantly, as though that’s simply another thing she can’t bother to be surprised about. Waverly thinks she must be painfully predictable to Wynonna, even when she does something she deems reckless every once in a while. 

And perhaps she’s grasping for straws now, for anything that might unsettle Wynonna in just the slightest - something other than her own feelings. Perhaps she’s looking to pull off one of those rare reckless numbers that’ll leave Wynonna no other choice but to blush. Or, maybe, she’s just drunk. And either way she does something stupid, pulls the covers away in order to reveal naked skin that she knows Wynonna should, under no circumstances, want. She doesn’t have to say _‘I’m naked’_ or _‘I want you, please come to bed’_ to get her point across. 

To Waverly’s utter dismay, Wynonna doesn’t look. She discards her shoes and leather jacket instead, drinks some more before she dares to even get close to the bed. Everything to protect her little sister. “You don’t know what you’re doing.” 

Another few inches of the blanket shy away, and Wynonna shakes her head. “Please stop making this harder than it already is.” 

It’s the frustration of not being looked at, of not being seen, mixed with an ever-growing pool of insecurities that cause Waverly to be bold again. That cause her to sit up and glare at Wynonna, in a way that pays no mind to how incredibly small and feeble she must look in this dimly lit, dirty room and a bed for two. 

“So leaving is hard now?” she asks, voice cracking already. Traitor. “All of the sudden leaving is hard? What about all of the times-” 

At least she’s looking at her now. At least she’s coming closer, at least she’s no longer running. No longer contributing to whatever makes it so hard for them to merely _be_ in the same space. “All I’ve ever left behind is you, Waves. It’s different now. There’s no turning back this time.” 

“I know. I don’t want there to be.” 

“You don’t know what you’re saying.” Again Wynonna scoffs, but Waverly hears it nonetheless. The words are just a little too soft, a little too quiet and not at all Wynonna. She’s scared, and finally she dares to lie down next to Waverly. On top of the covers, fully clothed and staring at the ceiling. Some safety space between them, as always. 

And it’s not what Waverly wants, what she’d expected this to be like. It’s not yet a fancy road trip, it’s not yet partying and leaving it all behind. It’s not yet being together, but for now it’s enough. Just the two of them in the dark, just the beating of two hearts. Perhaps it’s supposed to feel like this, somewhere on the border between _I belong, finally_ and _fuck, what we’re doing is wrong and reckless and we’re killing ourselves by pretending it isn’t_. 

Perhaps it’s not supposed to feel right. 

Waverly turns around and bravely urges Wynonna to do the same. And once they lay facing each other, she can think a little clearer. And Waverly smiles, because she’s still naive like that. They’ll fall asleep next to each other, and tomorrow morning they’ll take off with Wy’s car and never turn back around. And they’ll be okay. “Wynonna?” 

“Yeah?” 

“Can we go see the Niagara Falls?” 

Wynonna’s chuckle is not malicious, not dismissive for once, and it barely dies in her throat when Waverly instinctively leans closer. She stops her nonetheless, as soon as an impulsive thought turns into something Waverly actually wants to follow through with, just short of their lips touching. And Waverly can hear the chuckle, _feel_ it against her skin so soft she almost doesn’t mind being pushed away in the most gentle of ways. 

“Don’t,” Wynonna whispers, sounding just as uncertain as Waverly would like her to. “You’d just regret it in the morning.” 

“Would _you_?” Waverly asks, leaning closer still. She closes her eyes when Wynonna merely laughs another time, as though perhaps the answer had been obvious all along. 

“I’m the family fuck up, Waverly. What do you think?”

**Author's Note:**

> I couldn't find a beta for this, thanks to the questionable content, but I hope it was okay nonetheless.  
> Please let me know what you think! Kudos and comments are _always_ appreciated :)


End file.
